


Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

by bluetears07



Category: Pusher (Refn Movies), Trial & Retribution – Fandom
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Post-Canon, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: After fleeing Copenhagen, Tonny and his son seek refuge with a friend from his most recent stint in prison.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gift work for the lovely Tooberto. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing these two so please forgive any wonky characterizations (and, of course, please let me know how to improve them!). There is a lot more to their (prison) backstory, but Tooberto mentioned fluff as an option and I really wanted to write about these two taking care of Tonny's baby so this happened...
> 
> Awful google translate in hover text.
> 
> Gifset: [Here](http://mischievousmuse.tumblr.com/post/154916266957/little-boy-blue-and-the-man-in-the-moon-after).

Paint peeling off the walls of the freezing stairwell, spots of mold metastasizing in the corners, a dim flickering fluorescent buzzing with half-life, barely register as Tonny scuttles up to the top floor of the squat tower block. It’s taken nearly two days of sleeping rough and asking around old acquaintances but Tonny thinks one of the grimy flats on the fringes of Hamburg’s infamous red light district might just be the right place.

The jostling disturbs the sleeping infant tucked against his chest. A sniffling whimper rings throughout the stairwell as he starts taking the steps two at a time. With a sheen of sweat beading on his forehead, panting by the time he rounds the final flight of stairs, Tonny yanks open the rusted door to the uppermost level of flats. Harshly lit with more fluorescents, the long corridor of discoloured doors seems endless. The boy’s whines become more insistent. Slowing his manic pace to a wide eyed wander, Tonny gently rocks the boy as he catches his breath to scan the flat numbers nearest by. 

“Shh, shh,” he hushes the baby, a creeping edge of panic filtering into his voice as he glances down at the boy. Pouting, red faced and cranky at the rude awakening, he notices the pacifier stuck in the folds of his sweatshirt. He pops it back in the baby’s mouth. “Det er okay, lille fyr, vi er her nu.” The pacifier returned to its rightful place, combined with the soft whispered tones and a broad palm rubbing his little back, seem to temporarily calm the fussing bundle. He looks up, blinking once, twice, and slumps forward, burrowing his face back into the warmth of Tonny’s chest with a quiet snuffle of exhaustion. He feels the tension release from the little body as the boy falls back asleep.

Mindful of the slumbering baby, he makes slow progress searching for the right door, only to discover it lies all the way at the opposite end of the hall. After double checking the scrawling pen marks on his forearm, Tonny knocks. He waits, scrubbing a hand over his face with a sniff. Nothing. Shifting the baby from one hip to the other, he bangs on the door with his fist. It rattles in its frame.

A few seconds later an agitated, rumpled, half naked Roberto wrenches open the door. Warm waves of relief wash over him.

“Was zum T—Tonny?” A familiar blush blossoms high on the boy’s cheeks as he visibly struggles to contain his immediate reaction. He has never seen Roberto so blindsided. The brief flicker of a smile falls from Tonny’s face when he catches a glimpse of someone looming in a doorframe inside Roberto’s flat, back turned as they readjust their belt. “How—” Bright red scratches cover the broad back, jagged and fresh. Tonny cannot help noticing the uncanny similarities between himself and the stranger lurking in Roberto’s bedroom. He shoulders past a pliant Roberto. “Tonny?” He calls after him.

“Sorry, Berto,” he apologises straightaway, awkwardly glancing around the sparsely furnished anteroom as he cradles the head of the sleeping lump in his arms. He spots a single, empty chair at the small kitchen table. One occupant. His gaze slides back to Roberto’s face. “Jeg—”

“Hold on.” Roberto holds up a hand, stalking off down the short corridor to his bedroom. Tonny hears the back and forth of hushed squabbling in a confusing mix of English and German before Roberto cuts the man off with a curt, “Raus!”. No translation necessary. The guy scurries out of the flat, hiding a split lip and tugging at his sleeves to mask the fresh ligature marks ringing his wrists.

Roberto returns, languidly pulling on a plaid button down. He lets it hang open, the cuffs dangling a few centimetres past the tips of his fingers. With a sneer, he slams the door shut behind the stranger, sliding multiple locks into place with rote efficiency. He turns back around, his youthful face set in the same impassive mask Tonny was first drawn to, pouty pink Cupid's bow lips and flushed cheeks below a haunting dead stare. Captivating in its illusion of dispassion, begging to be provoked into exposing the wild, unbridled delight that takes over when Roberto allows himself any one of his wicked indulgences. Only toward the end of Roberto’s sentence did Tonny start to pay attention and recognise the rampant anxieties festering far beneath the carefully cultivated expression. 

Under the full weight of Roberto’s attention, Tonny begins fidgeting. He licks his lips, rolling them inside his mouth with a nervous frown before muddling through his appeal.

 “I—we stay?” This time he seeks out Roberto’s eyes.

With a seemingly indifferent sweep, he looks Tonny up and down before zeroing in on the baby in his arms. He closes the distance between them with slow, measured steps.

“Who’s this then?” He inquires, reaching out to gently tug the child's hood and bonnet off. The dozing baby barely notices the contact, instinctively turning his head away from the light and snuggling closer to Tonny without waking.

“My son,” Tonny responds slowly, stroking a hand over the downy fluff covering the boy’s head. 

“Son?” Roberto balks. Before the recoil even reaches completion, he has already schooled his face into a near perfect approximation of tempered curiosity. "How old is he?" A faint edge undercuts the contrived nonchalance laced through his voice. 

"Four months." Despite his impeccable control, Tonny recognises the rare flare up of possessive jealousy in the rigid set of the boy's lithe frame. “I no know,” he explains, fumbling with the language as he tries to anticipate Roberto’s reaction. The baby stirs again, rootling around to hook his tiny covered hands around Tonny's neck in an attempt to get more comfortable. A stray mitt bumps into his cheek. "Only now," he adds, guiding the child's hand back down to his shoulder.

“So what’s his name then?” Roberto asks, watching the exchange between father and son.

“He, uh…” Tonny pauses, glancing around the empty kitchenette cum living room to avoid the young man’s gaze. “No name.” 

“What?”

“The mother…” Tonny trails off, tapping the side of his nose with an aggressive sniff as if it explains everything.

“Of course,” Roberto scoffs. The boy wakes at the harsh sound, turning and gazing up at Roberto with bright eyes. He takes another step closer to inspect the baby. The child smiles around his pacifier, leaning away from Tonny to try and get a better look at Roberto. A peculiar look passes across the man’s face.

“He needs a name, Tonny.” Lips pursed, he looks back up at Tonny.

“I know, man,” he replies lamely, scratching his nose. “I like Anders?”

“Anders?” Roberto tests the name, sounding oddly truncated by his English lilt. “Sure,” Roberto shrugs. “Here,” he extends his arms, offering to take the burden from Tonny. Reluctantly, he relinquishes the child to Roberto. “Go take a shower, you smell disgusting.” He points to a door down the short hall leading to a cramped bedroom.

Tonny hesitates, running the palm of his hand over the short stubble sprouting over his scalp. He’ll have to shave it soon, though he doubts Roberto owns a proper razor. He nods with a quiet, "Ja, ok," before turning down the corridor. 

As he shuts the bathroom door he hears the distant sounds of Roberto cooing at the baby burbling happily in his lap. In the privacy of the bathroom he sees no point in even trying to stifle the lopsided smile staring back at him in the mirror. Below, a solitary toothbrush lays haphazardly on the scummy rim of the sink.

 

 

Roused by the click of a deadbolt slotting into place, Tonny peers out from under the pile of pillows to find the flat bathed in pale moonlight. He checks on his son snoozing peacefully in the makeshift crib Roberto and he fashioned out of an empty cardboard box and some towels. Fussing with the seam of his left sock, Tonny tugs it back into place along the line of his toes before clambering off the dilapidated sofa. Dressed in a tatty pair of old briefs he goes to investigate the noise that woke him.

He finds Roberto toeing the front door of his flat closed behind him in the dark. Several bulging shopping bags dangle from his arms; the plastic crinkling loudly.

“Hej,” Tonny whispers, voice cracking just before he yawns. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, he shuffles over to help carry a few of the groceries. He plops them down on the narrow countertop. Roberto observes him with a faint smile, setting the last bag down beside the others. “Berto, jeg—”

“Go back to sleep." With an air of distraction, he casually runs a hand over the wiry hair covering Tonny’s chest. The gesture is met with a bleary-eyed look of affection. “Sove, yeah? You look like shit.” He gently shoves Tonny back toward the couch before unpacking his shopping bags. “Wait,” he calls, tossing Tonny a bundle of disposable razors, a cheap toothbrush and cigarettes. He does not wait to see the man's reaction, instead occupying himself with sorting through the package of diapers and different brands of baby formula. He unwraps a brand new bottle, immediately setting about to sanitise it. Tonny sleepily dumps the items back on to the countertop. “Isn’t that your brand?” Roberto asks, puzzled.

Half asleep, ragged with exhaustion, Tonny succumbs to the overwhelming rush of dopey joy that overtakes him at the exquisite, bizarrely domestic sight before him. Shuffling up behind the boy, Tonny winds an arm around his narrow waist.

“Tonny…”

Despite the weak protest in his voice, Roberto stops washing the baby bottle to allow Tonny to slowly undress him. Unzipping and peeling off his winter coat with excessive, fumbling touches that linger at the delicate bend of his waist. For the first time, Roberto feels surprisingly malleable in his hands.

“I thought…” the slight tremor floats on the fringes of Roberto’s voice, plucking at his battered and bruised heartstrings, “…this is what you wanted.” Tonny tucks his face into the long slope where neck meets shoulder; nosing under the soft curls to inhale the boy’s scent. Safe and warm and familiar. A warm, muggy sigh prickles up the hairs at his nape.

Fingertips caress the back of his hand, blindly tracing the webbed tattoo inked deep into the pale skin.

“What happened?” The hazy whisper comes as a nearly inaudible aberration.

“M’here now,” he mumbles into the contours of Roberto’s neck, lips teasing along his pulse as he speaks. “Berto,” Tonny hums his name, lifting his face to mouth the delicate lobe of his ear; messy and wet. 

Roberto tips his head to the side, falling back against Tonny’s shoulder with a whimper. Rough palms skim down his sides, sliding inward to smooth over the slight curve of his lower abdomen. Tonny draws him back into the cradle of his hips, pressed flush together, back to front. His hand slides under the dual layers of cotton shirts, stroking balmy skin beneath. Roberto twists his hips, grinding back against Tonny as a cold wandering hand snakes up to graze a nipple. It pebbles instantly. He feels the flutter of Roberto’s stomach muscles contracting with each stuttering breath. An unchecked moan slips from his mouth.

The sound shocks them both. 

Slowly, Roberto turns in his arms, looking at him with an unreadable expression. A shiver creeps along Tonny’s spine, clawing its way up each vertebrate to buzz faintly at the base of his skull. Heady and thrilling, he watches the beginnings of a strange maelstrom brimming beneath the placid surface. He brushes a wayward lock of hair behind Roberto's ear, tracing the dips and curves of the jutting cartilage. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against Roberto’s, hypnotised by the way the moonlight catches the glassy blue irises in the dark. 

“Idiot.” 

The wicked little smile is the only invitation Tonny needs. 

Crowding him against the countertop, Tonny makes a few tentative half starts, the tip of his nose glancing off a flushed cheek. Roberto steadies himself, a hand braced along the edge of the counter. For once, Roberto allows Tonny to dictate the pace of their kiss. Soft and sweet, longing and buried frustration bubbling up. He can feel the coiled tension in every muscle, imagining the boy dragging him under with teeth and nail and desperate whines.

A quiet, hiccupping whimper from the other room pierces their little bubble as it grows into a steady whine.

“He's hungry.” Roberto reluctantly pulls away. Tonny tries to drag him back in for another kiss, both hands slipping down to grope his ass. “Stop,” he smirks, smacking at the mischievous hands, though he permits the brief kiss. Tonny makes one last grab for his belt buckle only to be playfully rebuffed again with a hissing command, “Go calm him down.” Stifling a razor sharp grin, Roberto shoves him over toward the makeshift crib. "Go.”

As Roberto warms the formula in the microwave, he watches Tonny’s blundering efforts to console the hungry baby. First bouncing the boy on his knee to no avail before switching tactics. He weaves and bobs his fist in the boy’s face before bopping him on the nose with a knuckle. It works for a brief moment, the boy burbling and babbling happily before flopping over onto his back on the cushion beside Tonny.

"Woah,” Tonny chuckles, attempting to right the wriggling baby. 

"You're terrible at this." Roberto mumbles without any real vehemence, diligently testing the temperature on the inside of his wrists. He saunters over to the couch, handing over the bottle and plucking the baby out of Tonny's loose grip. Roberto gestures for Tonny to sit back in the corner of the couch. Despite the empty seat beside Tonny, he turns and drops down into the space between Tonny’s legs. Baby cradled in his arms, happily sucking down the formula, a pair of jittery hands hover over his hips. Roberto leans back into the warmth of Tonny’s naked chest, silently encouraging the other man. Both hands settle on the small patch of skin where his shirt has ridden up, just above the waistband of his jeans.

Tonny hides the stupid grin spreading across his face in the crook of Roberto’s neck, thankful that the boy ignores the reaction.


End file.
